The Dragon, the Witch and the Wardrobe
by tallshadow72
Summary: Arthur wishes something interesting would happen. He gets more than he bargained for. Slightly crack. One-shot.


**A/N: This is set mid-season 4.**

 **I don't own Merlin.**

* * *

Arthur sat at his desk, going over reports and desperately hoping for some excuse to go do something more interesting. Even Merlin wasn't around to lighten the mood—he was helping Gaius take care of an epidemic in the lower town.

Eventually, Arthur sighed and went to his window. He could see his knights enjoying themselves on the training grounds. He missed the days when he had the time to join them.

Suddenly, there was a noise in his wardrobe. It sounded like a crash, followed by scuffling. To Arthur's shock, he heard Merlin's voice coming from the wardrobe.

"I _told_ you not to try that spell yet!"

If that wasn't odd enough, what happened next was even stranger. "Well if you hadn't distracted me then I wouldn't have mucked it up!" replied Morgana's annoyed voice. Arthur froze, then cautiously crept over to where he'd left his sword.

"We don't have a way _back_ , Morgana! You never think ahead, that's your problem!" Merlin complained.

"Oh, don't pretend _you_ aren't curious about the idea of alternate Camelots too!" Morgana retorted.

Arthur quietly picked up his sword, then froze again when he heard an odd chirping sound. "Oh great, you brought Aithusa too?" Merlin demanded, sounding exasperated.

"She was on my shoulder, I—"

"Aithusa, _no_! Don't go setting people's clothes on fire! Even if they're not wearing them!" There was a brief moment of silence. "Aithusa, nun de ge dei s'eikein kai emois epe'essin hepesthai!"

Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin. Hearing magic words come out of Merlin's mouth was totally and completely _wrong_.

Meanwhile, an annoyed-sounding squawk came from the wardrobe. "You know she doesn't like it when you do that," Morgana reproached.

"I tried asking nicely first!" Merlin defended.

There was more scuffling, and the wardrobe shook. Arthur silently stalked toward it. "Oh this is ridiculous," Morgana complained. "Tóspringe!" The wardrobe door flew off its hinges and knocked Arthur backwards onto the ground. His sword clattered out of his hand.

Merlin and Morgana emerged from the wardrobe, both dressed as nobility. Merlin looked slightly singed, no doubt courtesy of the suspiciously draconic white creature that perched on Morgana's shoulder.

Morgana looked down at the fallen king. "Oops. Sorry." She crouched to offer Arthur a hand, but he warily scrambled backwards and grabbed his sword again.

"Uh, Morgana?" Merlin ventured. "I think we might actually be in an alternate Camelot."

"What makes you say that?" Morgana asked absentmindedly.

"Because _our_ Arthur is used to our magical misadventures, and this one looks like he's trying to figure out whether or not to run us through."

Arthur rose to his feet, still extremely wary. "So…if you're from some alternate Camelot…does that mean that _my_ Merlin is _not_ a sorcerer?" he asked, trying to keep the raw hope out of his tone.

Merlin shrugged. "How should I know? I'm not him."

"Wait, why aren't you asking about _me_?" Morgana demanded, sounding offended.

" _You_ have already made your loyalties clear in this Camelot," Arthur replied bitterly.

"Hold on, are you saying I'm _evil_ here?" Morgana realized.

Arthur nodded curtly, not trusting himself to speak.

Morgana began to look thoughtful. "Hmm. I actually kind of want to fight this other me."

"You're not serious?" Merlin asked incredulously.

"How often do you get a chance to do battle with yourself?" Morgana turned back to Arthur. "Now, where can I find me?"

"I really have no idea," Arthur replied, his head beginning to pound from the sheer craziness of the last five minutes.

"Well then. Guess I'll have to go look for me myself," Morgana concluded, walking out the door.

"Morgana, wait!" Merlin called, pursuing her.

Arthur stayed where he was, too shocked to follow. After a moment, he debated calling for the guards, but decided that they would probably think he'd gone mad. Maybe he had. He returned to his paperwork, cursing himself for having wanted an interesting day.


End file.
